Twist of Fate
by FairLuthien
Summary: Blade and Whistler get more than they bargained for when they find a girl in a vampire temple underneath their base of operations. Takes place during the first movie.  While there are some events that are directly from the first movie, AU.
1. The Door

_Prologue: Fire and Water_

_The year 1925_

The rain fell angrily from the heavens. Depressed clouds wept and thundered their admissions of misery upon the world. The priest watched the world outside from the safety of his home from the living space of his town house. The living space was neat, orderly and filled with few items that most people would expect from a man who served his god. A few bookshelves filled with an assortment of books, most he had brought from Ireland, and some he had bought in a small bookstore outside of York-town. There were a few cushioned chairs for reading placed around a small fireplace. There was a small window seat as well, which was where the priest was sitting now watching the downpour with earnest. A few lamps were lit dimly in the room but he took little notice of the light. Outside the world had darkened and that was all he saw.

"Asher, I when I left here earlier, ya be sittin' at t'at window. Now ya be t'eh when I be back. Is t'ere somet'in' on yeh mind? What ya be t'inkin' about I'd like ta be knowin'?" A voice called out to him softly in English. It was a rich cultured voice, though the English she used sounded hard to his ears, and one that he knew very well. He did not need to look behind him to know whom the owner of that voice.

"Oh, I be here and about t'day lass. I came in wit' t'e rain. I be t'inkin' o' ta rain, lass, and home. " He answered back. His voice was quiet but loud to the girl behind him. He did not turn around for there was no need. Better to watch the rain pour down, better to have his back to her.

"Do ya be missin' it, Asher? Miss ou' home?" Though she had learned English first she mostly spoke in their native tongue. They had been here in New York for almost five years, and she preferred with their new freedoms, to speak exclusively in their native language. In fact this was the most English she had spoken to him in private since they had landed on Ellis Isl for she'd rather speak in their native tongue. He almost asked her why the sudden change in the languages but thought better of it. The lass would surely balk him for asking such a simple question and that would be the end of using the English's language.

"Aye, t'at I be, lass. T'at I be." He answered again. There was a sigh in his voice, one that she knew well. The sigh to the obvious question that she had asked, one that did not need to be asked but was anyway. He felt her move closer though she made no sound. They knew each other well, perhaps too well. She was so close now she could touch him and he could see in the faint light her reflection in the window. Her strong beauty could make any man lust for her, yet for the priest it did nothing for he still saw her as he did then; a child, his best friend's child.

She was not fragile by any means, no, men usually thought twice about approaching her in a dark corner. She was tall for a woman and could meet most men's eyes with her own. Her body was as limber as a young man's but carried a woman's curve. Her temper was as scarlet as her hair; hot and warm as the fresh blood that seemed to boil in her veins, which curled wildly perhaps from the heat of her skin. Today she wore her hair up in the most recent fashion though it was seemed like a hard task to do with those long wild curls of hers (she refused to cut is like so many young American women of today). Against the hair her skin was pale and seemed to hold little color except for the pink of her lips and the faint color of blush of her high cheeks. Her nose is an Irish nose; long and narrow, the bridge crooked as if it had been broken several times in her youth. Not the classic beauty by any means, but she was striking in her own way.

Asher almost laughed when saw that she had dressed up for the evening. _American fashions change almost as much as the weather_, he thought to himself. He almost couldn't believe any god-fearing proper lass would be wearing a dress as revealing, or as gaudy as the dress she was wearing. Especially for one particular lass who is a priest's ward.

Sara was certainly "dolled up" for the evening. Her dress, ending at an unthinkable length at just below the knees her calves visible under the sheer stockings she wore, was of satin cloth and was the color of the deepest green complimenting her cream colored complexion and vibrant locks. Asher was certain that she wasn't wearing a corset under the dress, or petty-coats; another thing that was thought to be unthinkable for women when he was a younger man.

Although her eyes were a lilac color, the deep green had darkened them to a darker shade of violet. Her face was also painted as well; dark eyeliner and light green eyeshadow further helped to bring out the color of her eyes and seemed to soften her features and the rose rouge and deep red lipstick painted to her lips complimented the paleness of her face. He was amazed at the transformation because she almost looked innocent, demure, and even tamed. He almost couldn't see the girl he knew.

He wondered why she decided to suddenly become a women of fashion for she hated wearing dresses and seldom did even though the looks she got from others were judgmental ones. It was not proper for a young maid such as herself to be dressed as a man. Most thought, (and had told Asher so) that she probably wore the slacks because now the women thought that they were as strong as men because they had gotten their right to vote. That was improper. Asher long ago at one time would have thought this, now he knew better.

"An' where'd be ta young lass be goin' t'is foine evenin'?" He was amused and it showed. He almost sounded condescending to her. Not quite, but almost. She hated that. Men, they always thought that they were better than women and especially the American ones. The egotistical bastards, all of them were. She'd let Asher get away with it, though. He was the only one that mattered to her anyway. The others, all they were good for was practice.

She studied him from behind for a moment, admiring him from the window. Their eyes locked through the windowpane's reflection. She always noticed his eyes. They were green, bright and lively as the hills back home. They were honest eyes. They went well with his ruddy complexion and dark blond hair that always reminded her of the color of honey. He had masculine features and was tall for an Irish man, certainly taller than her (she thanked God every day in her prayers for that). He was built like a workingman although he was a priest with broad shoulders and muscular arms, slim waistline and long well proportioned legs. She wondered what the rest of him looked like under his garments. It was curious fantasy and not Christian like for her to wonder these things especially speculating about a priest.

"We be goin' fer t'eh evenin' don't yeh be remembehin'? Don't yeh be telling' meh yeh fehgot?" She asked astonished. "To Sih Fehost's pahty?" She said with a hint of disgust in her voice. Sure he remembered Frost's party. It was the biggest party of the year but it is also been the biggest blood bath. (Not to mention that it will probably have enough illegal alcohol to fill his entire home if it were poured.) They had been after the Englishman for ten years now and finally had a chance to get him. He had forgotten it was tonight, however. Had it come so soon? Odd, old age must be setting in. Even though he was reaching forty, he did not feel old until then.

Asher set his eyes to the heavy rain again. He had a bad feeling about this. Something was going to happen tonight and it was going to change both of their lives forever. "Are yeh goin' ta be dressed soon, Asheh, We'll be late, an' I do not plan ta miss 'em t'is time." Her voice was curt, determined. Asher sighed as he got up from his comfortable seat.

"Sara, I'm as ready as I am goin' ta be." Erecting himself straight he gave her a small nod smiling a small smile. He went around her to the small entrance grabbed his raincoat from the coat rack and his umbrella. She followed him and waited silently at the door. Pulling on the coat on he opened the door and stepped outside before pulling the umbrella open. It was bad luck to release an umbrella in a house; any proper Irish lad or lass knew that. He held it over his head and left room for his charge to step under before moving to lock the house behind him.

_Chapter 1: The Door and Awakened Sleeper_

_The year: 1998_

Whistler sat in his seat sketching out his newest weapon design. Blade was off doing what he did best: hunting and disposing vampires and their familiars. Today was harder than most days for him to concentrate on his work. He kept hearing strange sounds and it was beginning to agitate him. Where was the sound coming from? He could wait for Blade to get back or he could solve the mystery himself and get back to work. The latter sounded more pleasing.

Setting down the sketchpad that was half-filled with pencil marks and scribble lines, he stood stiffly and carefully placed most of the pressure on his good leg. He gave himself a moment to stretch the soreness out of his neck, back and arms that had stiffened a bit from drawing and then hobbled over to grab a shotgun from the worktable. The shotgun was one of the many guns he owned that was a custom design, the barrel elongated to hold silver stake casings. Holding the shotgun ready he made his way along the stretch of the warehouse following the sounds careful to keep his guard up, in case of an ambush.

Following the hum he made his way to one side of the stockroom; a part that was still rather clean and was unused except for storage space. The grinding reverberations were getting louder. Now he could tell it was some sort of machinery and made another discovery. It came from under the depot not above as he had originally thought.

Whistler lowered his weapon and contemplated his next course of action. This could be of use or it could possibly be dangerous. Hell, he thought, his interest has been peaked now, might as well figure it out.

As Sara became aware all she sensed was cold. It seemed to envelop her entire body and had worked its way into her insides. Suddenly a flush of warmth spread through her veins, painful and wonderful. Her body wracked in pain as it was being jolted alive again tingling from sleeping nerves, and from the flesh rising in temperature. She tried to struggle, but it was still around her. They were still there, holding her down while the oozing liquid poured over her. She screamed a silent water-choked scream and struggled more furiously against her bonds. Glass broke and she was free. Coughing she took her first breath of air in what seemed like eternity.

Darkness, she was blind. Most of her senses gone except for touch. She felt around, catching a hand on one of the jagged remains of her prison. Blood spilled and it felt burning against her frigid skin. She noticed only the feeling of warmth because the agony throughout her body took over all other pain.

Everything hurt, her insides turning from shock, throat dry, and head aching. Her stomach leapt and she leaned over and puked the liquid that had been forced inside her and kept heaving. Eventually the retching subsided leaving her feeling empty. Finally the shock on her body overloaded her senses and at last she fell into merciful unconsciousness.

The grind of the mysterious machines was drowned out by his hand-held jackhammer. Whistler whistled to himself as he drove through the ground. Suddenly the jackhammer hit metal and sparks flew. Whistler turned off the jackhammer and peered into his newly dug hole. What he saw shocked him. Grabbing his jackhammer he went on the break though the surrounding concrete and dirt until he had uncovered the rest of his findings. What he saw in the illumination of overhead lights took his breath away in awe and fear.

Under the concrete and dirt, hidden away from the rest of the world, was a round bronze door with a large antique knob on the left and rusted hinges on the right. It was now deep brown with corrosion and age. Edged along the border were primeval writings in a foreign literary. It was ancient vampiric writing.

Whistler sucked in a breath of air and let it out struggling to calm himself. _How in the fuck did this get here?_ He wondered, amazed. What was its purpose, seemed to be the more appropriate question. It seemed to be old judging by the state of decay of the door itself. Maybe it was abandoned years ago by vampires and buried underground to cover up any of the secrets hidden inside. _Blade's going to have a fucking cow when he sees this. Holy fuck_, he thought, Whistler needed a drink.


	2. Before Night's End

Chapter 2: Before Night's End 1998

It was still a few hours away till morning when Blade arrived home. Whistler heard him come in by the sound of his wheels screeching. He wasn't expecting Blade to be back this early. Damn kid drives too fast, Whistler thought fleetingly before turning his mind to the task at hand.

The young woman clutched at Blade's arm digging her nails into his arm as if she were trying to make him feel the pain she was feeling. He looked at her saying nothing. Blade had felt pain before, more than just physical. He felt a twinge of empathy for her pain, then nothing. She was going to be a ticking time bomb if she made it through this. There were few that were saved after the kiss of a vampire.

"If she makes it through the night," Whistler spoke to him as he walked away from the operating table, "she might have a chance." He didn't sound too hopeful, or was it that he seemed distracted? Blade thought it was it was both. From the corner of his eye he saw the woman's eyes flutter as if she was trying to keep herself from losing consciousness. As he leaned over to her to make sure they weren't losing her, her eyes lulled into the back of her head and she slipped into sleep.

He checked her vital signs. She was breathing. Her blood pressure was low but that was mostly due to the loss of blood. She might make it after all. He let out the breath he had been holding slowly. She wasn't in the clear yet. Even if she did make it, the day they let her back in the city she was good as dead anyway. He had already decided he was going use her as bait and keep her alive for a little while longer, even if it was going to end up with him having to hunt her. That send a reaction though Blade that he wasn't suspecting. He felt regret to use her, even felt worse about the thought of ending her life. It must be because she reminded him of someone he had lost so long ago. Yeah, that was it.

He fixed a look over at the man that had been his mentor and partner for so many years. Whistler had his back to him, What the hell is the Old Man thinking anyway? He couldn't help but wonder. "She'll be killed to keep her mouth shut if she survives as soon as we take her home." He blurted instead.

Whistler chuckled mirthlessly. The kid had a talent for stating the obvious. "We have more fucking pressing matters than that at the moment, however, Blade. Go put the girl in a bed so she can rest up first; then prepare yourself for some shit."

Blade gave him a look that seemed to say, 'This better be good, Old Man.' Whistler watched him slink off with the girl and waited patiently for the Daywalker to return. He didn't need to wait long.

"What is it?" Blade's shades made it impossible for Whistler to read his eyes but the old man knew what he was thinking. 'What's the problem so we can fix it as soon as fucking possible?'

Blade watched the old man impatiently. He knew the old man was taking his sweet time. He knew Whistler's thoughts by reading his face. He was probably thinking, 'How the fuck am I going to word this?' or 'We've got a fucking problem and I'm trying to think of the best way to tell you,' were the two most probable sentences that were going to come out of his mouth. What is it that has Whistler in a fucking bunch, he thought impatiently. It was better to get on with it and get back to business.

"Well," Whistler paused for a second thinking of the best way to bring the situation out as forward as possible. Blade folded his arms.

"You said this was 'more fucking pressing matters', so fucking get on with it, Old Man, we don't have all damn day." Whistler tugged at his ragged beard in response. Fuck, he thought, this kid is impatient.

"There seems to be a vampire lair under our warehouse." He stated as simplistically as possible. The reaction in Blade was fascinating to watch.

"Jesus mother-fucking Christ! You mean there's a fucking vampire shithole in our hideout. Jesus, I'm surprised they haven't sniffed us out by fucking now. Show it to me." Blade's voice rose a bit before returning to normal. Whistler turned and shuffled his way to the back of the warehouse. Blade followed in step behind his mentor.

"Its been abandoned years ago. Judging by the wear and tear on the entrance I would say it's at least fifty years old." Whistler said over his shoulder.

They approached the door. It hadn't changed since Whistler's departure. Debris lay around the door making a cluttered mess of concrete and dirt on the ground, boxes and supplies were covered in dust and Whistler's jackhammer lay on its side where he had set it down.

"You could have at least picked up the fucking mess you made." Blade mumbled under his breath looking at the horror around him. Blade abhorred messes.

"Didn't make a fucking difference. This corner already is a shit-hole anyway with all this shit cluttered about. " Whistler mumbled in Blade's general direction. Blade said nothing to this response. He pretended not to hear the comment and squatted down on his haunches to analyze the older man's findings.

"It's vampiric, alright," Blade sighed a hefty sigh and took off his heavily tinted sunglasses and rubbing his eyes. He didn't need this shit right now. There was a girl in his room, an infected girl who happens to remind him strikingly of his dead mother. There was Quinn, the little overzealous Pomeranian of vampires, who annoyingly just refuses to die. Blade was getting fed up with trying to find new ways to kill him. Torturing him is amusing though and even Blade needed some amusement now and again. Too many vampires; not enough nighttime hours to hunt them all down at once and exterminate them like the vermin they are.

"Well, no shit, Sherlock. I could've told you that." Whistler wisecracked. This was going to be a long morning Blade could smell it. He ran a finger over the burned in letters of the door. These were burned in carefully to make sure the legibility was perfect.

"Can you read this, Old Man?" Blade asked not looking up.

"Nope, it's too archaic. I can probably get it translated for you though," Whistler took a cigar out that he had stashed in the inside pocket of his trench coat. He paused, lit it and took a puff before continuing. "It'll cost a pretty penny. The faster you want it, the more you'll pay."

"How soon can you get this translated?" Blade asked pointedly. Before Whistler could answer, Blade's sensitive ears picked up a sound from under the door. Blade raised a hand up in warning and silence. There was a whir and a click as if something was unlatching from under the door. Blade stood quickly from his crouched position and readied himself for whatever came through that door.

Nothing happened. They stood in silence waiting to attack. A moment passes, then a minute. After a few minutes, Blade relaxed. He must have triggered it to open somehow; there was probably a hidden devise on the door that he pressed by accident.

He crouched again, studying the round door's frame. It seemed like it was like most sewer entrances. It was extravagant, perhaps, but same foundation besides the fact that it was a door. Grabbing the latch, he threw his the weight into his legs and gathered the strength to lift the heavy door.

"What are you planning to do, Blade? We don't know what's down there." Whistler asked.

"I'm going to have a look-see in this old vampire pit. If you want, you can stay here." He grunted the last part as he pulled the latch up. The rusted hinges shrieked as if in pain from the pressure of movement after so long of inactivity. He shifted the weight pushed it the rest of the way before shoving it to topple on the other side where it fell with a jarring crash as it hit the concrete. Dust flew in all directions covering Blade and Whistler in its wake.

"Geez, can you make that any louder? I don't think the bloodsuckers on the other side of the fucking country heard that racket." Whistler coughed.

"It's daylight. They're all asleep, anyway." Retorted Blade, smartly. He bared a toothy grin at Whistler before peering inside the hole. Whistler grabbed his arm.

"Its not morning yet, smart-ass."

"Oh yeah, I forgot." Blade was still grinning.

"We should prepare ourselves for whatever is in that shit-hole. We'll take care of this in the morning when it's light and the all the bloodsuckers are asleep. Get whatever you need to do done before then. We'll go in at first light." He paused for a moment and sniffed the air. "Oh, and Blade, go take a fucking shower. You smell like shit."


	3. Down the Rabbit Hole

Author's Note:

Looking at the first and second chapter, I noticed that there are a few mistakes in the document, including the separation stars I use to mark a "meanwhile" or a "Later..." signal. In the Second chapter specifically, I noticed some of the thoughts aren't italicized. I'll try to edit this and get that fixed as soon as possible.

Otherwise, I cleaned up the summary so that it isn't as vague. Please read and review if you are enjoying the story, or have anything that you think needs to be drawn to my attention so I can make changes and corrections if need be.

Last thing, again, I did not create Blade, or any other characters from the movie. All other characters are mine. Enjoy!

_Chapter Three: Down the Rabbit Hole_

Dawn came swiftly. Blade took a shower and put on a clean pair of clothes, like Whistler requested. It felt good to be clean, and not have the smell of smoke, sweat, and blood that had clung to him during his activities the previous night. Blade could feel the pull of sleep and the Hunger nag at him. He needed to take his serum, but he wouldn't sleep or eat until he had made sure that the place underneath the warehouse wasn't a threat. He didn't like the idea of having an underground vampire pit in his home. He was pretty sure there were no vampires there, but he still needed to check for his own peace of mind.

Curiosity was nagging at him, too. There were unanswered questions that he needed answered. If there were no vampires there what was the purpose of the temple? Why was it buried and forgotten? This was also chance of a lifetime and he hated waiting. Yet, wait he did, for hours. Now, finally the time was at hand to discover the secrets that the tomb held.

Whistler had spent his time meticulously preparing, and had the weapons and equipment for their excavation ready. There were two UV lights for each of them, garlic spray, miniature compact explosives, glow-sticks, loaded handheld custom silver-shots, and a shotgun with silver shot rounds for Whistler, which was what he favored; Blade had his sword. For communication if they needed to separate, they each had a COM link. Blade glanced at his partner who nodded to the other the go ahead.

Neither of them spoke as they journeyed the short distance to the entrance. Blade thought momentarily about the young woman, the doctor called Karen, still asleep in his room. She was securely locked in from the outside. She wouldn't be able to escape if she awoke while they were out. He allowed himself a small smug smile and pushed her away from his mind's eye. From here on out, her presence in his psyche would prove to be a distraction that he didn't need.

Nothing had stirred from the time they had left a few hours earlier. Blade smacked one of the mini rayon glow-sticks on and dropped it in the hole. The glow-stick fell and landed with a diminutive smack as it hit the bottom. Whistler whistled. It was at least three stories down to the bottom. But their descent down was going to be easier than they had originally thought. For in the soft illumination of the falling light, Blade saw a rung of metal descending down into the pipe. There was a ladder. This time Blade did not hide his grin.

"What are you grinnin' about now, Smart-ass? Did you see something I didn't? All I saw was a fuckin' ladder." Whistler didn't hide the annoyance he felt.

Blade continued smirking as he stepped enthusiastically onto the ladder and began his quick descent into the ebon darkness. Whistler's movement was much slower than the younger more agile predator as he followed, grumbling under his breath.

When Blade reached the last ten feet he jumped away from the ladder and in quick succession before he landed on the floor, drew the blade from its sheath and spun himself landing lightly on the bottom in a ready stance for assaults if they were to come. Emptiness greeted Blade in all its silent glory. The air had a stale taste to it. Blade sheathed his sword. The place had been dead for years, he now knew for certain. Above him he could hear the Old Man's metal leg brace hit the ladder as Whistler made his way down. Blade moved away from the ladder rung and into the spacious entrance way. He left the glow stick for Whistler to pick up when he reached the bottom.

Switching on a minute flashlight, he grazed it across the space in front of him. The entryway was bare and the walls were ash grey in the artificial light. There weren't any lights on the walls but he saw double doors at the other end of the room. _Well shit me some giggles_, Blade thought dryly. He walked warily to the doors aware of the probability of hidden traps. He was being cautious although his gut told him they wouldn't have thought to put traps down here if they didn't think anyone would find this goldmine.

Whistler finally reached the bottom and grunted in relief as he felt the solid ground make the acquaintance of his feet. He bent over using the ladder as leverage to pick up the glow-stick. He straightened up and followed Blade whom had made it already to the other side of the darkness. The glow-stick gave light but not much. Whistler tucked the glow-sick into a pack and grabbed his own flashlight identical to the one Blade carried. He toggled the switch on and followed after Blade.

Blade was studying the doors intently when Whistler gained ground on him. Blade's flashlight was snuggled under the dark man's muscled arm and cocked to give direct light on the door. It seemed to Whistler that Blade was deliberating on his next course of action. The doors looked normal enough. The door handles were old, maybe about 60 years or so Whistler reckoned. With the extended levers and modest knobs at the end they brought memories back to him of his grandmother's house for some reason. Whistler shrugged his memories away. They had no place in the present.

"Well? Why don't we knock on the fucking and see if anyone's home? Maybe they'll be able to come out and play." Whistler's sarcastic remark echoed through the chamber. If there were any vampires left here, they would probably be very hungary about now and would have attacked them. This place was a tomb and it was very unlikely any vampires were here.

Blade grinned in the darkness; the light lit his face eerily making him almost macabre in the sick light. Whistler didn't notice; Blade always had a disturbing presence about him, something almost that was inhuman. He always managed to unnerve the ordinary sheep. Whistler was not a conventional person and neither did he mind his partner's, whom he cared for as a son, appearance. Right now, however, his focus was called elsewhere.

Blade made a gamble and tried the door manually. He had a hunch that the vampires didn't equate him into the mix when they constructed this… Whatever it was. _The cocky sons of bitches probably left this place wide open for anyone thinking no one would find this place it being under ground and all, _he mused, and began to turn one of the antique handles.

His sensitive ears picked up a click as he released the latch. That wasn't normal. It hadn't been locked after all, but now he was sure it was armed with some sort of trap. He felt a surge of giddiness as a waterfall pour through him. Now the fun begins.


	4. Asher

**Hello! This is my fourth chapter, and the last that I have completely ready. I'll try to get the next chapter done when I can. Please, if you are enjoying the story, review it. **

_Chapter Four: Asher_

About 2,000 miles east of Los Angeles, a man sat in the sunlit window of a small café enjoying his cup of coffee. It was a cool morning, for the summer's heat hadn't come yet. As he took small sips from his hot drink he watched from his window seat the pedestrians pass to and fro busily, most likely on their way to work. He smiled to himself. _I wish I could be like them, ignorant of the true horrors. They don't know what goes bump in the night. These people have no idea of their danger._ He thought seriously his smile turning into a grim frown. He couldn't think about that now. It was morning and he was determined to enjoy this rare moment of peace while it lasted. He hadn't had a few hours to himself in a long while, and he knew it would end as soon as Thomas came which should be any time now.

"Mind if I take a seat?" A voice called to him. He looked up and noticed for the first time the distinguished gentleman standing over him.

_How long had Thomas been standing there?_ He wandered. A few moments passed before he reacted.

"Thomas, sorry, I didn't see you there. Please, take a seat." He said apologetically gesturing to a seat across from him.

"Lost in thought again, 'ey, Asher?" Thomas asked. Asher swore he saw a twinkle in the older man's gray eyes.

"Would you like something to drink, Thomas? Some Irish coffee, perhaps?" Asher asked politely, ignoring the question. He might as well get some of the pleasantries out of the way before broaching the true topic of the meeting.

"No thanks, I had some coffee before I left this morning from the O.C.M." Thomas let out a contented sigh as he eased himself into his seat. "That's much better. I've been on my feet all morning and I haven't had a chance to sit." He chuckled and took a deep breath. Asher shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He wanted the rendezvous over already so he could go back to his peaceful morning.

"How is everyone at the O.C.M.? With my… studies I haven't been able to go back for months now." He worded carefully as he flicked his eyes from side to side briefly behind Thomas. The café was suddenly empty compared to what it had been a few minutes earlier. No one was close enough to his and Thomas's seats to eavesdrop. Feeling slightly more at ease, he turned his gaze to his cup. Damn, he thought, almost all gone.

"We are worried about you, Asher. Your reports have come back grim." Asher looked at Thomas vigilantly before answering. So much for pleasantries.

"Why are they worried about me? I'm doing what we do best. Observing." Asher drank the last bit of his coffee in one gulp. The liquid was warm and it coated his throat with a unpleasant after taste. He swallowed hastily to wash the bitterness away.

"I'm- Mmhmm," He cleared his throat, "-going to get some more coffee. Are you certain you don't want anything?" He waited for Thomas's response before getting up from the chair. Thomas shook his head in a polite gesture. Asher sprang from his seat and strolled over to the counter and returned with a new cup of steaming coffee.

"Speaking of reports, I have my next one for you." Asher started as he slid back into his seat. "Quite a bit as been happening with Darke as of late. He has been in contact with a Dragonetti." Thomas looked at him with mild interest in his cloud colored eyes. Asher grabbed the manilla envelope sitting on the seat next to him and tossed it across the table. It landed in front of Thomas with a small sound and a tiny slide.

"Is this the report?" Thomas asked.

"Yes, everything I've learned in the past month is in that file." Asher took a sip of his new coffee. It was boiling temperature compared to that of his last coffee's gulp and he drank charily taking care not to burn his mouth.

Thomas eyed the youth with scrutiny. He seemed worn out from the assignment. His dark honey-colored short spiked hair seemed unkempt and unwashed. His smoky hazel eyes drooped and under the eyes were large bags as if Asher had not been sleeping much. Darke must have had him working day and night.

Thomas took his eyes away from the boy and to the manila envelope in front of him. He picked it up and placed it in his briefcase.

"I also came with new orders for you, Asher. Your services with Darke are over as of tomorrow." Thomas stated.

"Tomorrow?" Asher couldn't believe it. He had worked hard to get this close to Darke and now they're reassigning him?

"What about Darke? Who's going to watch his movements? If I leave tomorrow it's going to raise questions about me. Knowing him with the connections he has he'll launch a full investigation and find out about us. Besides what about the tattoo I have? It just screams 'familiar, object of Andre Darke'." He voice was low, urgent and almost whispered. He looked around him covertly, checking for eavesdroppers.

Thomas caught the edge in his voice. He had known Asher long enough to know that the lad was exasperated but did he also detect fear? "We already have that covered, Asher. Do not worry about the O.C.M. we've been keeping our organization secret from our 'nightly friends' for over 20 generations. What makes you think that someone like Andre Darke is going to find us out now?" He chuckled a warm baritone laugh and slapped his knee. Asher said nothing but Thomas caught the flash in his companion's eyes. "The tattoo is nothing we can't take care of. You already have a schedule with Maureen this evening. And we already have a story to give to Darke for your sudden disappearance. Besides, we're sending Mathew to replace you." Thomas assured him.

"Well that's just bloody brilliant. We both know Mathew's not as good as I am." Asher muttered. "Why are they taking me off of the assignment?"

_Because you're getting to close too this vampire, and we're afraid we'll lose you._ Thomas thought silently. He didn't voice his thoughts, but merely opened the briefcase again. He took out a file and gently set it down in front of Asher. "We have something else more pressing, and we'll need our best man to work this assignment. We need you to track and find out all you can about the hunter known as the 'Daywalker.' "


	5. Reawakening Past

Chapter 5: Reawakening Past

The door creaked open slowly as if an unseen hand was pushing it forward. Light peered from the crack in the door. The wider it became, the more light flooded through into the room scaring away the darkness around the two hunters. Blade and Whistler cleared away from the door stepping further into the security the outer room held for them. Past experiences had taught them that it was best to be safe than sorry.

Inside the door under the combined brightness of the dim lights, another era seemed to emerge like a time capsule. For Whistler it was like stepping back into another time. The walls were probably painted off-white once upon a time, but had deepened in color to aged bone. Against both walls on each side were rows of beds equally spaced, a World War II hospital rooms for war patients, with intravenous drips by each bed. Many of the stands were lacking the drips, but those who had them, the bags were empty and their corners had traces of brown cracked dust in the inside; old blood. On the other side of the room were another set of double doors.

Whistler and Blade looked at each other then back at the room beyond them. Blade led the way and stepped into the room, alert and ready for any traps. Nothing happened. There were no traps, and certainly no vampires. He sighed, turned his flashlight off, rolled his shoulders back to loosen them, and stretched his neck relaxing his guard. The air was stale and had a musty taste, but it was breathable.

Whistler stepped into the room following his younger partner still tensed and ready for anything. "Are you sure that's a good idea, Blade," his voice was low and gruff.

"There's nothing here, Old Man. Look at the I.V. stands and the bags, those that are left, and you can see for yourself. The vampires must have completely abandoned this place possibly more than fifty years ago," he replied. The kid had a point.

"If there's nothing here and this place has been deserted for decades, why is the light still on, or even working for that matter?" Whistler asked, more to himself than Blade. It was likely that they weren't going to be getting any answers from this place.

"Let's move on." Blade checked the doors to see if they worked. These too opened with ease and creaked open making a loud noise that seemed to echo into the darkness beyond. "Looks like there aren't any lights beyond the door." Whistler took the glow-stick that they used earlier and tossed it through the opening. It sailed about ten yards then clanked along the floor, bouncing a couple times, and then finally rolled to a stop. The room beyond wasn't a room at all, but a hallway. Blade flipped the switch of his flashlight and flicked the beam into the now dimly light hall. The walls were grey and uninteresting, probably made from concrete or stone.

Blade took point and led the way down the hall, briefly pausing to pick up the glow-stick and sticking it in a pocket. Whistler had taken out his flashlight and the twin beams danced along the floor and walls as they made their way farther into the unknown.

After a few minutes of the hallway began to dip downwards at an incline. They were going even deeper underground. Then a fork in the road. There were two pathways, one to the left and the other straight and down as far as they could tell.

"Well, good thing we have the COM links. You take the one on the left and I'll keep going straight," Whistler ordered. Blade didn't argue and with a nod he turned on the COM and headed left. This way also went down at a slight incline, but not as much. Blade moved swiftly and silently, careful and prepared for anything, ready to attack at the slightest movement. The darkness was much more unpredictable, and better for ambushes. It was safer to be on guard.

"Blade, come in," Whistler crackled through on the com.

"Hearing you loud and clear, Old Man," he responded, not even pausing.

"I found some stairs. Looks like they go down quite a ways," he paused and Blade could hear the static crackling of the com. "There's also a hollow area here, I thinks it's some kind of room. A very large, tall room." More static noise.

"Keep me posted. I'll let you know if I find anything," he responded.

"Copy that. Damn stairs. Should have had you take the straight passage," Whistler grumbled. Blade kept going, his flashlight flickering over the walls. The passageway yielded little change and Blade's eyesight had completely acclimated to the darkness, not that the walls had anything interesting to show. The only noise that kept him company was the light padding his boots made on impact as he moved forward through the hall as quickly as he could. The lack of companions or of distraction left his mind free to think about other things, something he really didn't want at the moment.

Darkness down the halls and silence greeted him as he moved through the halls. As he moved down, his sensitive ears began to pick up something. The farther down he moved, the more he was able to hear it; humming of machines. This is what Whistler had been hearing for the last few weeks. It was amazing he didn't hear it before. The hallways shifted in front of him veering around a bend. He followed it around and suddenly, a wall seemed to materialize out of nowhere.

This is where this path ended? He flitted the flashlight one way, and then the other. There were no other hallways aside from this one, and the hum was even louder. He turned off the flashlight and was rewarded with a faint light the creaked through at the bottom of the corridor. He walked over to the dim glow and measured the distance the light gleamed pierced through the wall. It was the same distance as a door frame. There was another room behind this wall way, and now to find a way in.

"Whistler, I reached the end of the tunnel and found a doorway. I also think I may have found the source of the hum you were complaining about," he reported into the com and waited for a response from his mentor. The crackle of static was all he could hear from the other side. "Are you there Old Man?" He waited almost impatiently for Whistler's reply. Why wasn't the old man answering?

"Damn! These stairs are fucking awful. I almost slipped on one or two trying to respond to your damn com! What have you got?" Whistler responded finally. Blade fought back a sigh of relief, he didn't want Whistler to think he had turned soft.

"Don't go breaking a hip down there, Old Man, or else I'm leaving you down there, got it?" Blade turned his flashlight back on and moved the light over the wall where he was certain there was a door hidden there. He heard the elder hunter snort in response.

"Me, break a hip? In this damn place? You wish, Blade. Now what the fuck did you com me for? Better have been a good goddamn reason for it," Whistler bantered back. Blade smiled to no one in particular. There wasn't anyone before like Whistler in his life, and likely no one after either. Whistler was the closest thing to family he ever had, and he would be damned if anyone took his partner from him.

"I'm still waiting, asshole," Whistler continued. Blade could hear him breathing over the com. It sounded heavy, like he had been running a marathon.

"Out of shape, Old Man?" Blade couldn't help but tease him.

"Fuck you. You trying walking down ten flights of stairs with a bum leg and see how well you can breath after that," he sounded irritable. Blade decided it was best to tell him what he found and let him get back to work.

"I reached the end of the corridor and found a door. I think those sounds you were complaining about are coming from beyond it," he reported.

"Glad you're finding more than I am," he replied. "Almost down these stairs. I'll let you know if I find anything." Blade heard the com click off again. He turned his attention back to the wall in hopes of finding a trigger to open it.

()()()

Whistler finally reached the bottom of the stairs and pausing at the last step, he stopped and took a deep breath. Blade certainly was in a rare mood this morning. He couldn't help but wonder if it was because of that woman he brought home with him. Whistler already had an inkling of why he did, but he didn't press the issue. She was good as dead already, even if she did make it through the night. Blade should know better than to bring his work home with him.

The stairs led him into this tall open room and now that he had made it down here, the sheer size and immensity of the structure could make anyone pause. Why did those blood suckers build this, and underground too? The lack of warmth so far underground made his bad leg ache. He grimaced and reached down with his free hand to rub his thigh absentmindedly. The metal bracing a least kept him on his feet, but it didn't do much to help the pain. He moved the flashlight around to see if there was anything else in this area before he started back up those same flights of stairs. He almost wished he had never gone down them, climbing them was going to be even harder than the descent. His eyes caught something in the moving light; it was another hallway. He clicked his tongue as if making an agreement with himself and started to move toward it. It probably led even farther down into the cold damp earth, but at least he didn't have to start up those stairs yet.

Down the hall, he saw a few doorways. Some opened up to more stairs, and others to more hallways. The stairs probably led to the balconies that viewed into that large structure. Vampires and their decor, he thought. He finally made it to the last doorway led into a room. This room was different than the others. There were writings scratched into the walls, floor, and even the ceiling. Upon closer inspection, Whistler realized that they weren't scratches at all. It was writing, vampiric writing.

()()()

After searching for the last few minutes for a way to get in, running his fingers along to surface of the wall, his fingers found an imprint on the wall's surface. He pressed down on the imprint and heard a satisfying click. This door, unlike the earlier doors he had encountered didn't swing open. This one slid to the side and revealed a rather large interior lit by the light coming off of a giant machine. The room was large with simple grey ceiling and walls, and covered wall to wall with a giant machine. The machine was ancient and bulky grey with large buttons and levers. The machine made hums and beeps as lights on its display flickered on and off. What was the thing was for, or how it was still running for that matter? The dim light was more than enough for Blade's adjusted eyes to see without using the flashlight, so he put it away.

He looked past the machine and farther into the room. The room was more like something that he had seen from an old science fiction film than he would had ever thought to see in real life. There were tubes in this room, clear and empty, but large enough to fit a full grown adult human inside. Something twisted in his gut. He didn't like the look of this one bit. What were the vampires up to? He saw that all of them were off, except one. The one at the end had a lit up display. He walked silently into the room between the empty tubes, and got a stake ready. He wasn't taking any chances.

As he got close to the end he noticed the tube's top had been smashed open from the inside, and the floor around it was wet. The tub wasn't empty, though, there was something in there. He could make out the form of a body. Then something wafted its way to him: blood; human blood and the stench of stomach acid. The person in the tube was human. Human? Why was a human down here? The smell of blood was fresh, and so was the vomit. That can't be right? This place had been abandoned by the vampires at least fifty years ago, there couldn't be any humans here. He tightened the grip he had on stake and walked to the tube.


	6. Out of the Darkness

Well, here we are: Chapter Six. I apologize to all of you who have been waiting so long for the next chapter! I battled writer's block, and too many classes at school, plus work, (and tons of research on the 1920s,) combined with my perfectionism kept me from getting this done sooner. However, you won't be disappointed, there is a lot of material here.

This chapter has some "scenes" directly taken from the movie. To which I will insert a disclaimer right here. I do not own Blade, or any of the characters and scenes from the Blade franchise that you see here. I only own the story and my own characters that come from my own humble imagination.

Thank you to those who have visited my story, those who have added this story to their favorites, and of course a special thank you to Etherealmm for whom had gotten me off my writer's block with the reviews, and back into writing the story.

I am now currently working on chapter seven, though I have no time frame for when that will be done, I hope I can get it done and posted at least a month from now, but no promises, I am very slow.

_Chapter Six: Out of the Darkness_

Blood. It was fresh, visceral and present, and pounded in sync with Blade's own body. His senses, heightened by the scent of it, locked into the blood as a predator would on its prey. Every fiber in his body began to scream in a locked chord: _blood, fresh blood!_ Blade tried to ignore the relentless agony of his body, and to focus on the task at hand. He had not injected himself with serum before coming into this pit, and he realized now that it might have been a mistake to wait. He forced himself to focus, but it was doing little to still the call in his mind. He needed to find out why a human was here, **alive**, but the little voice in his head wouldn't shut up about the blood. The hum of the machinery was so loud in here it grated into his teeth, the pressure causing him grind them together.

He edged up to the cylindrical object holding the human inside it. The large cylinder was opaque, but clear enough for him to see the shape of a body inside. The top was smashed through, with shards of glass littered around the tube on the ground and Blade could see a dried blood trickle running down it. The blood itself, though fresh, was cooled by the still air and had dried to leave a still river tracing itself a little pathway half way down the side. He noted the blood had only reached half way, which meant the owner of the blood had not cut him, or herself too deeply and the cut wasn't life threatening.

He walked over, the sound of his boots echoing in his ears with each step, and looked into the tube to get a look at the human inside. What liquid had been in there had mostly emptied, leaving the human inside half-submerged in what, he estimated, was an inch of liquid. In the pale blue light of the working machines, he would have almost taken the human for dead if it was not for the steady sluggish pounding of the heart in his head. The human was a pale ashen grey color, so pale that he could see the blue veins twist boldly through the flesh. He could make out dark soaked hair, though it was hard to make out a color in this light, and the swell of the chest as it rose and fell with some struggle, the breath so light, he didn't notice it at first. The human was a woman. The clothing she wore was a thin white silk cotton slip with thin straps and a straight neckline that had turned almost see-through from the water revealing the outline of her curves, her muscular thighs and arms, and a slim waist. He could also see marks from where needles had punctured her arms and chest. She had been bound, arms feet and neck, and it had left deep marks engraved into the skin. The needles that still protruded from her skin were large and ugly looking, and the puncture wounds were dark and red and Blade could see some had bled.

The woman's face was obscured from his vision by her long thick wet mop of dark hair. Blade reached down with a hand and fingered the hair aside to get a better look at her neck to make sure she was not bitten, and therefore, not a threat. Her skin was frigid and clammy to the touch, while the blood underneath it seemed to boil. The woman moaned and her eyes fluttered in an attempt to regain consciousness, flinching away from his touch, shivering. Though her neck was dark, scraped and bruised from what looked like a struggle from her bounds, there were no bite marks. It didn't mean that there weren't other places the vampires could have bitten her, but the woman was human, and it looked like she would remain that way for now. This woman needed medical treatment and soon.

Blade stepped away from the tube, satisfied from his inspection, and stepped away from the tube momentarily. He needed to report to Whistler with these findings, and make a decision with what to do with the woman. _She won't last long in the condition she's in_, he thought absently. Maybe Whistler was right, maybe he was going soft.

* * *

"Have you lost your fucking mind?" The elder vampire hunter exclaimed. Blade waited. Whistler was going to have his say, and Blade would just have to hear him out. "You found what, a supposedly unconscious human in something that sounds like it came from a science fiction movie, but you want to bring this human that is somehow alive even though it seems like this place has been abandoned for who knows how fucking long, and bring it back up to the warehouse? Haven't you already got your hands full with the first stray you brought home?"

"This is the best lead we have. What better than a familiar? This girl is obviously human, and in no danger of turning. We can get the information we need from her, and then decide what we're going to do." Blade ignored Whistler's mention of the woman in his room, he didn't want to think about her now. Whistler may think of her as a stray, but she was a means to his end and a way to get to Quinn.

"You're going fucking soft," The noise of the comm crackled over the open line. "I'm heading back. Don't do anything stupid. Whistler out," the line cut off.

Blade sighed into the still air. _Only Whistler_, he thought, before turning to the problem before him. He walked back to where the unconscious woman still lay. _Why did you get abandoned when everyone else left_, he wondered, trying to work it out in his mind. The pieces weren't fitting together, but he didn't have enough pieces to complete the working puzzle in his head. Blade needed more information, and this woman seemed to be the best solution, then he was going to take the risk taking her back up to the warehouse.

He placed his sheathed weapon on the ground and then removed his trench coat, spreading the material over the ground by the tube. He needed to find a way to open the chamber; the opening the woman smashed through wasn't large enough to pull her out. He looked for a latch of some sort but couldn't find one. He needed more light than what he had, and it wasn't necessary to keep it dark for the present. He moved with decision, reaching into a pocket of his utility vest and pulling out a flashlight, and walked over to the giant retro computer-like machinery that still hummed and beeped with mechanical life. He flicked on the light and looked over the machine with hard trained eyes. He had never seen anything quite like this before, save the old large machines back when computers were new, and this didn't look like the computers he remembered from that time.

As he studied the switches and push buttons the machinery began to blip and he heard a grating sound behind him. With a swift motion he turned toward the loud sawing sound, only to see the the lid of the chamber the woman was in lift itself up and freeing its captive from inside its vessel. Blade had no idea how it happened, but it saved him from having to guess what buttons to push. He strode back over to the open tube. The water had completely drained itself, and the remaining needles that had punctured her had disengaged and disappeared somewhere in the folds of the machine leaving in their departure large red holes, blood welling to replace the void the needles left. He picked up the woman, her skin was ice cold to touch, and placed her in his coat and wrapped her tight. Blade grabbed his sword and placed it on his back, then picked up the unconscious form in his arms, and left.

* * *

Blade waited for Whistler to come up from the darkness of the pit. He had placed the woman down on Whistler's bed and pulled the covers over her. Her slip had dried during the upward climb back to the surface, so he didn't see the need to humiliate her further if she woke up. He noticed her breathing was better and color had come back into her skin. She might not need medical attention as much as he had originally estimated. He then checked on the other woman in his room. She was still asleep as they had left her. He closed the door softly behind him, but left the door unlocked in case she woke up wanting questions, and then sat down to polish his sword while he waited for Whistler.

He finally heard the scrapping of Whistler's leg brace as he lifted himself out of the pit, and the muttered profanities as he struggled. Blade thought for a moment about helping the elder hunter, but thought better of it. Whistler was one of those people who would rather fall down to his death than receive unasked for help. The Old Man can pick himself up out of the crypt.

"Jesus, my leg fucking hurts. Next time, I get the easy ass road, you get the shitty stairs," Whistler griped as he settled himself down on a seat to relieve the stress and pain on his bad leg. "So, did she survive?"

Blade's mind wandered to the woman still in his room. "Which one?"

"Damn it, Blade, what has gotten into you about strays? First the one from the hospital, and now this one. Strays are popping out everywhere it seems these days," he paused for a moment, his expression more thoughtful, "Well if the first one survived the night, it's still uncertain if or how long it will be before she turns and we'll have to hunt her too."

The muscles in Blade's face twitched for a moment, but he didn't respond.

"As for the one you found in the pit, well, let's go see this miracle of modern science-fiction."

"Sure you want to go now, you look like you're about to break a hip, Old Man." Blade commented as he polished his blade.

"Don't challenge me, Blade, I might decide to take this hip and break it over your head," Whistler grumbled as he pulled himself up, but Blade could hear the shadow of humor in his voice. "Then we'll both be sorry motherfuckers."

"Where did you put her? In your room with the other one?"

"No, in yours." he tilted his head just so to catch the look on Whistler's face through the top of his shades.

"In my- Blade, your fucking strays, your fucking room. Crystal?"

"Yeah, yeah Old Man," Blade set down the blade and they walked over together to inspect their newest guest.

* * *

It was a nightmare, Karen was sure of it. What happened last night had to have been a dream, a horrible, life-like dream. One moment she had been talking to Curtis while they worked on a burnt corpse, wondering what she saw in the man when they first dated, to seeing the burnt corpse rise like a zombie from the grave and kill the man she had almost convinced herself she had been in love with. Then the corpse had settled its undead eyes on her.

Karen could see herself back there, almost as if in slow motion, unable to do anything while Curtis bled out over the floor and the thing that they had just been performing an autopsy on now turning its eyes on her. _ItbrokeCurtis'snecklikeapencil!_ She couldn't get the picture of her head. He had moved so fast, it was unreal. Weren't zombies supposed to be slow and staggering? She had tried to run, to get help, pushing her way out of the morgue doors, and into the hospital hallways. No one tried to help her as the thing caught her in its grips and knocked the breath out of her lungs. Then he bit her, and began draining her dry.

She tried to struggle, to get him off her, but the creature was too strong. She was weakening from blood loss he was siphoning from her. Her thoughts raced to her family, friends, and her now dead ex-boyfriend. From the edge of her blurred vision, she saw a man in black walking almost in slow motion towards her and the creature holding her.

What followed next was insanity; surreal as a drug induced high, as he threw her out the window of the building that was a few stories high, and the pushed her into his car. As he sped along the highway she had passed out, partially from blood loss, partially from the shock. Her throat had burned so badly where the thing had bit her.

Karen opened her eyes, and the nightmare became real. She was not in her apartment, or in one of the hospital cots they kept for staff that had around the clock shifts, but in a large plain bed. She surveyed her surroundings unsure if she should let however took her know that she had awoken. The room however was empty, devoid of life with the exception of herself. She placed her fingertips to her neck and brushed them lightly over the skin, searching for the evidence of the attack. She frowned as her fingers touched an aching spot and felt the two puncture wounds. _There's no denying it now, girl. It happened_, her mind spoke out to her confirming her fears.

Moving her head she gazed around the room, hoping to make a sense of who it was that had brought her here. Unfortunately, there wasn't much here to go on, and Karen wasn't a detective. Beside the bed, there was a desk, a shelf, and a night stand. The wall opposite of her hung various swords, knives, and other weapons Karen had never seen before. None of the weapons stood out to her, but it certainly told her something about her captor, and she moved on. On the ground was a lived out of suitcase and a few books lying on the shelf. A beam of sunlight that had sneaked its way from the curtains that covered the only window in the room, and onto the night stand next to the bed onto a piece of plastic there.

Karen reached over with a hand and picked it up. It was a driver's license. It wasn't hers, but the picture might as well been. The woman smiling to the camera could have been her younger twin with the exception of the hair. _Vanessa_, the name read. Dried blood on the license painted over the ink of the last woman's name, lost forever as far as Karen knew. Karen surmised the blood was old, perhaps by a few decades. The expiration date on the license also gave her a clue, the license had expired almost 30 years ago. Whatever had happened to this woman, her almost doppelgänger, it had happened long ago. She set the license back down where she found it, hoping to let it settle back into its dusty resting place.

She slowly rose from the bed, taking note of the aches and pains she felt with scientific detachment. In a crouched sitting position, she sighed and pulled her legs off of the bed's side and pushed herself up to a sitting position. Dizziness clouded her sight with bright spots spinning in front of her eyes. She knew that too was a symptom of the blood loss, and that it would pass. After a moment, when she felt confident that she could stand, she pushed herself up to her feet. She made her way slowly to the door and tried the doorknob. To her surprise, the knob turned easily in her palm. Her captors had left it unlocked.

* * *

The woman's condition seemed to be no different from the last time Blade left her. Her hair had dried and frizzed into a curled little knotted red ball on her head. Hair the color of fresh blood. _No wonder the vampires kept her_, Blade thought. Her breathing was the same, slow and deep as someone would breath in sleep. Whistler checked over her, and with a slight nod in Blade's direction confirmed for him that he had already guessed: she wouldn't need professional medical treatment, for now. Again the woman was left to rest as the two hunters departed Whistler's room. Whistler was quiet, his expression calculating.

"She doesn't need anything other than fluids for now. Looks under nourished, though, probably was starved I bet. Not bitten, from the looks of it, but looks can be deceiving.

"I'll stay with this one while you cut the other one loose, Blade, if she survived the night that is. Speaking of which," Whistler turned toward him, his motion ceased mid-step, "you need your serum." Blade didn't argue, nor did he mention that he had checked on the sleeping doctor while waiting for Whistler to get back to the surface. He had felt the pull of this strange young woman's blood, and it almost caused him to spiral out of control. Without another word he let the older hunter lead him to where the serum was stashed.

Blade took off his shirt, folded it and laid it down on the table next to them, and sat down in the chair. The seat was cold and worn, but Blade paid no mind. He felt hot, in fact he felt like he could boil water with his heat. He let Whistler tie him down into the straps. He knew it was for his and Whistler's safety. They had done it a thousand times. This was just routine, like always. "How many did you take out at the club?" Whistler asked turning to him, "We didn't much get to talking about it."

"Couple dozen." The Thirst was starting to get at him. _I waited too long_, he chided himself.

"Christ! What did you do to that shotgun, anyways? That's a hand-tooled weapon. It's going to take me days to get it back in shape." Whistler finished the last leg strap and checked his handy work, grunted to himself in approval, then pushed himself up. He met Blade's eyes.

"I'm ready." _Been ready a while ago_, his body reminded him. He could almost taste what that girl's blood would have been like, and that part of him: the part he had quelled inside him, **forced** down deep, almost rose to the surface. He was close to that breaking point, and he could feel his stomach lurch. _No. Never again._

"I really must be going soft in my old age letting you bring not one, but two strays home like that," Whistler clicked his tongue against his teeth. To Blade, the sound reverberated against his skull and echoed in his ears. _Just inject me already, I need the serum now!_ "Damned stupid of you. We might've lucked out with the first one though. I checked her background. Turns out she's a hematologist. Might be useful to us."

_That's what he was doing before we went down there, researching our... guest._ Blade just listened, focused on relaxing his tense body. He was beginning to sweat from the pressure building in his body, the anticipation of the monster about to be released, and his battle to keep it asleep. "I doubt it," he responded, wanting to say more but his concentration and patience were diminishing rapidly.

Whistler picked up a notebook that had been lying on his work table, "I'm serious. I took a look at that notebook of hers. She's on to something," he waved the book before placing it down again. He walked over to the other table and finally mixed the solution and placed it in the injection chamber of the gun. He stopped for a moment before turning back to his partner. "I had to increase the dose. You're building a resistance to the serum," he walked towards him with the injection in hand.

"Just do it, Old Man," he sounded strained, tired, even to himself. _This has been one hell of a day._

Whistler placed in his mouth the bite-guard into his mouth for protection, and finally gave him what he had been seeking what he had needed since going down into the darkness: peace.

* * *

_The fire sang and billowed. The house was now collapsing in on itself, the fire eagerly licking and consuming what wasn't stone. The child trembled, hiding in the long grass, as she watched the destruction of everything she had known to be her world. She could only watch helpless and wide eyed as she saw the men tear apart her home. She heard the scream of her father and her mother's cries. She could hear the laughter of the men who had done this, their voices caught in the wind, and the face of their leader burned into her mind. Frost, the men called him. The men were unnatural and monstrous, their faces pale and colorless, as they chanted their victory._

_Sara was alone, and it was all she could do to keep silent and hide as her mother had instructed her to. The girl knew the hills and the valleys of her homeland, the fields and trees sang to her their song, and she was intimate with their secrets. Her mother had taught her the ancient ways, and now she used that knowledge to hide. Though she wanted nothing more than to rush toward the fire consumed building, but her mother's orders held her back._

_A shadow loomed over her and she could feel another presence behind her. Her heartbeat loud and rapid in her own ears, she slowly turned to face what she didn't know. The shadow was a man, though in the darkness she could not make out his features clearly, for firelight struck eerie movement across his face._

_The shadowed figure crouched by her, a familiar presence though how she knew him she did not know. She felt a warm slender hand on her shoulder and a calm came over her. He was not with the bad men, she knew, he would protect her from them._

_The pale men watched as the house crumbled into itself, taking care to keep their distance from the grasping tongue of the fire's flames. As the fire died. The leader, Frost, shouted orders for them to find the missing child and the men began the search the surrounding meadows and woods for their quarry._

_'They're coming for me, they're going to find me,' frantic thoughts filled her mind. These creatures wore men's skins, but they were not human; they were monsters from her darkest nightmares, tormenting even in her wakened hours._

_As the men neared their hiding place, the man pulled her close into his embrace laying her small head against his warm chest with one arm looped over her tiny shoulders and the other smoothing her curly mop of red hair. He smelled of bark, grass, and smoke mixed with a scent that was uniquely his own. She was distracted by the rhythm of his heart, a strong slow beat, that drew her heart to sink in with the rhythm his commanded. She lost herself in its calming sober sound._

_He finally moved with the grace of a predator bird taking flight taking her hand in his own. She shivered against the sudden chill, his body no longer providing warmth against the cold misty night. She looked around and could longer see the men, nor their horses they had ridden in on. The house stood as a gravestone, the ash and dust settling, with nothing but the charred remains and a hollowed stone foundation. The fire had now extinguished and left dim glowing red embers in its absence. She looked at the man completely hidden in the darkness that enveloped them both,_

_"Come, little Hound, I will lead you somewhere where you will be kept safe from them."_

_"But the monsters-" she protested before he stopped her._

_"Are gone. You're safe for now," with that he pulled her lightly and she allowed him to pull her along. Something felt odd about his hand. She studied the hand, as her eyes adjusted to the obscured light of the bed of stars and opaque moon, that pulled her and realized why his hand clasped hers so strangely._

_"Why do you have six fingers?" The man stopped and looked back down at her. She noticed that he was very tall, comparatively to her than her father who had rivaled in height with other men of Ireland._

_"I was born that way," he answered and without another word they walked in silence. He lead her through the empty hillsides, valley and wood. When exhaustion took her, her short legs giving out finally, he picked her up and carried her like her father used too when he carried her to her bed. She fell asleep listening to the sound of his heart carrying the beat of Ireland._

Sara opened her eyes with his heartbeat still echoing in her ears.


	7. More Questions Than Answers

Finally! Finished with this darned chapter! It had been a struggle, but I finally have it out! I have half of Chapter Eight already written, so it won't take nearly as long. Sara had been giving me trouble, blame her.

So... hopefully I will have the next chapter out in a couple weeks we'll see. I have been focusing on my music, so this has been taking a back seat. Well, thank you to so many who have been reading and keeping up with this story! Happy reading, and please leave feedback without flaming the crap out of me! Also, Blade does not belong to me, nor do the parts of the movie I have used to make this possible. I only own the story that is mine, and the characters I have humbly created.

- Fair Luthien

_Chapter Seven: More Questions than Answers_

The young woman cried out in her restless sleep and tossed in the bed. Whistler had tried his best to make this stranger more comfortable, and even had put in an I.V. drip into her arm to make sure she had gotten the fluids she was lacking. Dehydration seemed to be the problem. Whistler knew he was no doctor_,_ but he had gotten the advice from one. The doctor, Karen Jensen, had looked at her, looked at them like they were crazy, and then told them she was dehydrated. As she catalogued the scraps and bruises, not to mention the puncture wounds, her eyes turned to them as if _they _were the ones responsible. He could see the tension in her hands as she set up a saline bag that they had among their supplies, and the furtive glances she made at them. Then she demanded answers about who was she, what happened to her, and who they were. Blade responded by telling her he was taking her home. They told her what information she would need to protect herself, as much as they could, but she wasn't satisfied with their explanation, _hell_, Whistler thought, _she was unhappy that we were taking her home_. Whistler admired her spirit, it would be too bad if she was just a ticking time bomb. Out of sympathy for her plight, he gave her the best advice he could.

_**"I can go to the police. I have blood samples back at the hospital. I can show them." The doctor exclaimed. Oh how easy it was to turn to authority for help, but that's the best part about the lie.**_

"_**Do it," Blade had interjected then. "You'll be dead before you can file the complaint."**_

"_**That's ridiculous! No one's that powerful." The doctor had exclaimed. Her upper body was tense, defensive. They always got that way when the truth was put in front of them. Then again, not many people had been confronted by the truth of the world, nor the war that raged. **_

"_**You're talking about a brotherhood that predates the Catholic Church by thousands of years. Their survival depends on their ability to blend in. Chances are, you've encountered them and not even known it. On the subway, in a bar-" He watched Blade sling over his CAR-15 over his shoulder as he walked over to his car in a determined, large stride. He could see that Blade was getting impatient, edgy even. This one had really gotten to the kid. Whistler couldn't really blame him; he wanted to get this over with as much as Blade. This was the best lead they had to getting to the bloodsuckers. She could be useful, but then again, she could also turn and fuck them. Whistler pulled a small metal canister out that he had in his pocket. It wasn't much, but it might help her out of a sticky situation, that is, if she didn't turn.**_

"_**Wait," he had called out to the doctor. When she turned, he threw the small canister to her as nonchalant as he could. He tried his best to act detached, much like his partner was a master of, it would do them no could to have a liability on their hands. "Consider it a parting gift. Vampire mace - silver nitrate, essence of garlic." The doctor looked at it, her face contorted, nose wrinkled and her eyes wide, before looking back at him, and then Blade. **_

"_**So, that's it? You guys just patch me up, and send me on my way?" Her posture was combative, but what can she do? He and Blade had discussed it, she was the closest link to Quinn they had, and if Quinn was around, it was certain that the other one, Frost, wasn't too far. But he felt like he needed to give her one more piece of advice.**_

"_**There is one other thing. I'd buy yourself a gun if I were you," He continued ignoring her look, "if you start feeling thirsty all the time and can't get enough, and the sun starts to hurt, you'll want to have one near. It's better than the alternative."**_

The doctor was a pain in the neck, but Blade had been certain that she would be useful. She was strong willed, and she might not turn if she was lucky. Whistler thought she could more useful to them with her studies on blood.

As Whistler mused over his "house-guests," his mind turned from the doctor to the other one, unconscious in his bed. Something still didn't seem right with this girl though. He checked her out and he didn't find any bit marks on her, or a visible glyph that marked her as a vampire's property. Her clothes though, they were also part of her perplexing puzzle, were strange, old. He hadn't seen clothes like it before, except in old magazines and movies. Undergarments like out of the Wild West. There was something about this woman, a question that for the moment had no answer. Just how long did they have her in there, all but forgotten, buried deep under the earth covered by mortar and stone? How could she have survived, she wasn't one of them. She was definitely human; UV lights did nothing. Blade said that her blood smelled human.

_At least, _he mused, _the fucking noise is gone. I can finally hear myself think again._

The woman mumbled again in a soft lilting voice in a language he couldn't understand. Her voice was small and frightened, like that of a child's, and it had an eerie quality to it that sent a shiver up Whistler's spine. Whatever she was dreaming, it wasn't a pleasant one. Her voice fell away into silence as she settled into the comforter, her breathing slow and deep as if she had fallen back into a deeper sleep.

Truth be told, he almost felt sorry for both women, a bit of him sympathized with their plight. He had been there with vampires, one of them had taken away everything that he had loved in the world, that moment forever marked him and pushed him to the goal he still sought. He could imagine that this young woman had been in a similar situation, and those nightmares were haunting her. Then again, she could still be a familiar, and his sympathy meant nothing.

Whistler resigned to be content to keep himself busy. First he walked back and forth from his work room to his bedroom to check on the sleeping guest, and going over what he would possibly need for an arsenal, making sure that everything was in order and ready to go as soon as Blade gave him the word. After he was finished with that, he got to work fixing the shotgun Blade had banged up at the nightclub until either Blade came back, or until the woman woke up, whichever came first.

It looked more likely Blade would be back first, considering the woman's condition, but he might have been wrong on his initial prognosis. The woman was comatose a half-hour ago, but now she was restless and crying out. It was more likely she would be awake before Blade got back. Who knows how long she had been down there in the dark, days, months, years? Whistler wasn't a science nerd either, and as far as he knew, the Vamps didn't use science for cryo-freezing, at least none that he had seen, especially not for humans. _Hell, I'm getting too old for this shit, _he thought.

Sara's vision was blurred and unfocused and she reached up with a hand to rub the blurriness away; but found her hand sluggish and unresponsive. Unlike the freezing darkness she awoke to earlier, she was dry and warm. As her vision began to sharpen, Sara could make out the walls of the room she was in. Her eyes found their way to the ceiling where harsh bright lights glared down at her. _How did light bulbs become so bright_, she could not help but wonder while she squinted in pain.

_Did they decide to go at it again, since I freed myself?_ She opened her eyes again slower this time to let the light in at a more even pace. Where was she, she wondered. She turned her head to look around her and to try to get her bearings. This was different. Perhaps it was a new tactic that had been devised to break her. She had to give them credit for trying something different.

"Finally, the stray has awoken," a gruff voice pulled her out of her thoughts, and her eyes shot towards the owner. Off to the side of her bed, an old man sat in an equally old, dusty chair. He was an American, as far as she could tell from his accent. The man cradled in his hands a shotgun, its cherry wood polish gleamed under the bright light, and he was in the process of cleaning its metallic barrel. The old man's blue eyes met hers for a moment, and then back on his task, his face set in a grim nonchalant expression, and seemed to ignore her as he gleamed the barrel. From the light she could make out the features of his face, lined with age, a battle-weary face, one that carried scars that were deep and hardened. She had seen plenty of faces like his after the Great War. Her brain, still sluggish, took a moment to process the English.

"Still out of it, aren't ya? Didn't expect to see you wake up so soon to be honest. Too bad Blade's gone with the other stray he brought home," he spoke an even tone, his voice level and neutral, but there was something underlying in his tone, though Sara couldn't put her finger on it. _Who is Blade, _she wondered. Her thoughts were cut short by the cough that made itself known.

"There's some water on the nightstand," the old man gestured to the right of her, his face still turned to the gun. She looked over to where his fingers pointed, and fought to bring herself up to a sitting position. She struggled to grasp the cup and hold it with both hands. As she struggled with it, she noticed the tube on her arm, but ignored it. It amazed her how hard it was to lift a single cup. She was weaker than she had ever known. She took a sip, and then began to swallow large gulps in need. They had not given her water in some time before putting her in that cold, wet darkness. "Easy," the old man suggested, "You shouldn't drink too much too quickly. You'll probably get sick." Sara slowed down, and with a final gulp, she stopped drinking and with some effort was able to place the cup back on the table with a small clang and stole a glance at the man; he wasn't the typical vampire's type to be a familiar. Was this a new tactic they were trying, someone old and seemingly fragile?

"Do you work for them?" His words were quiet, to the point. Still sluggish, she worked the question in her mind. _Trying that, again? _Her head suddenly felt heavy and she laid her head back onto the soft pillow.

"I won't be tellin' ya nothin'," She tried to muster up all of her strength to puff like a rooster. _He has a firearm, and I_ _am at his mercy. But, if he thinks water can get me to talk, his master has really lost it this time. _ "Ya can't fool me, _Eolas_," she did her best to spat, knowing full well he could kill her with that weapon of his, and she was far too weak to dodge it. Her voice came out sluggish and thick, nothing like the fire, or bravado she wanted him to see. His eyes snapped in her direction.

His jaw tensed visibly and his hand paused from its work. The pause was momentary, and the hand began to move once again. He didn't glance up from the barrel. "You're still too far out of it. You're malnourished. We've given you an IV to help get some of your strength back." Silence enveloped over them. Sara shifted her weight and lowered her eyes to her lap. She realized how exposed she was to him, and while part of her didn't care, the other part remembered herself. She clawed at the blanket and wrenched it up over her to gain her dignity, fire rushing to her cheeks, and scowled at the stranger to hide her shame, though he made no reaction to her outburst.

Her stomach threatened to loosen its contents again. _What _contents, she thought, _didn't I already release the contents of my last supper when I came to the last time? This is what you get lass putting yourself in a frenzy like that, _she chided herself as lights began to swim before her eyes, and she tried to find a point to focus on so she wouldn't lose to the urge, using the trick she had learned long ago.

"What's your name, girl?" The man spoke, his voice soft and low. It was almost gentle if not for the hint of danger she could read. His stance reminded her of one of the old gunslingers from a nickelodeon she saw once.

"Where am I?" Sarah ignored his question. They didn't need to know her name. They already knew what she was, what was the point of asking except to get information? Threatening, torture, intimidation, starvation, and lastly being put in the thing didn't get her to reveal anything; what made them think this new approach would? _Treading in dangerous territory, aren't we? _

"Chicago," he grimaced, his jaw clicked and she could hear the grind of his teeth, "home of bloodsuckers and God knows what else." He watched her for a second, as if he was sure she was going to jump from the bed at any second, eyebrows narrowed and pulled together as if recollecting some memory, and went silent. He was right, she was far from home she won't lie to him about that.

"Chicago?" She asked in a cracked and brittle voice with some difficulty. _Yanks and their naming conventions_, she thought.

"Yes. You should get some more rest," the old man moved, and she heard a metallic grating sound as he walked across the floor. Well, more like shuffled, he walked with a limp it seemed. Her eyes began to lose their focus once again, she felt tired. _I'm losing consciousness, _she thought as she struggled to stay awake.

"Who's Blade?" She asked fighting the urge to go back into that darkness of sleep.

"My partner," the man grunted. "He's the one who saved your sorry ass." His voice was further away now. "As I said, get some sleep. Plenty of daylight left." She heard a door close. When she was sure he was gone, she finally allowed herself to close her eyes once more.

Whistler's mouth became dry as he met the woman's eyes. It was only a second, but they were almost **inhuman**_. _They seemed to glow with an inner light, the silver shots moving within the violet pools._ Not like a vampire's, but what the fuck was that?_ Then they became normal, simple violet eyes with flecks of silver, tired and angry. In a way they almost reminded him of Blade's eyes, dangerous, without the Thirst that threatened to consume him.

Still he had been able to glean some facts from her, even if she wasn't willing to answer any questions. She had fire, despite her fragile state, and she had no problem telling him off. _She has been through a lot, like me_. He could tell that by her guarded posture and unwillingness to cooperate. Her face was gaunt and hollow, like someone who had seen too much in the world, despite her age. _She has known vampires, or I'm a fucking accountant. _He could tell that she wasn't too happy about what had been done to her, but she wasn't keen on telling him anything either. She was Irish, that he could place by her accent. At least the accent sounded Irish. He had been around a few, but her accent was much thicker than others he had met, almost like she struggled with the language itself. What was the word she called him? Elas, Eolus? Eolas! That was it. Gaelic wasn't a language he had picked up during his little crusade, but Blade might have. Or, he may know someone who speaks it.

He would have to wait to question her more when she had more strength. It amazed him that she was even able to wake up at all. She was severely dehydrated, and there had been no response earlier. The doctor had even said that was likely she wouldn't wake up for at least twenty-four hours, and it had only been two.

Whistler held himself up with one hand as the force of a cough hit him. _Fuck it hurts,_ he thought as pain wracked his body. He was dying, slowly, but surely the cancer was winning. He had to meet his goal; he couldn't die until he had taught Blade everything he knew, and he killed the bloodsucker that took everything he held dear. _One goal almost down, one more to go._ Blade was more than able to be on his own, hunt on his own, but they still needed to find a solution to fight his Thirst. Frost was his second goal, now that his death was in sight, and they had been pursuing the vampire relentlessly. This was the closest they've come to a fresh lead. Quinn had been the scent they had been looking after.

Whistler heard his COM click on and Blade's voice sprang over with a crackle, "Seems like we got a bite, Old Man. I'll keep you posted." It clicked off once more before he could reply. Whistler smiled though the pain. The doctor had been useful after all.


End file.
